All the News That's Fit to Print

Yesterday, there was a news story that a 50 year old man spent six hours gambling, while his 21-month old child was left locked in a car. This is purely awful, and despite my best efforts at compassion in general, I honestly can't conceive of a world where I would find myself making a set of choices that would lead to that result. Thank goodness the boy is with Child Services now, and thank goodness that someone heard him crying in the car & called the police.

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That being said, the somewhat trite* abbreviaton of the news story typically reads : "After father spends 6 hours at casino, authorities rescue toddler locked in car. Conditions were freezing, and the boy didn't even have shoes or socks on." My first thought - the thought that tells you that I spend time with a toddler - is "Of COURSE he's not wearing sock or shoes, he's been alone for six hours! Have you ever tried to keep socks on a toddler?". I suspect that a majority of the time at the daycare, the workers are trying to keep the kids from taking their socks** off.

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I'm a little appalled that my first reaction isn't outrage. But it's not. My first thought is "Of COURSE he's not wearing socks!" Outrage is next, but the first reaction is totally about trying to keep footwear on kids. Gack, I'm sympathizing with this complete idiot of a parent....

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I suppose I could be proud of the fact that it's never crossed my mind to lock Am in the car, just to get her out of the way. I don't know though, that's like being proud of the fact that I've never cut my legs while shaving with a cheese grater... It's not much of an achievement to avoid an asinine event.

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*IMO, of course. I think it's more pertinent that the father had covered the windows with blankets - to try & hide what he knew was wrong - or that that the boy had puked down his shirt. But what do I know?

**And their shoes. I thought it was just an attempt to fend off chaos, but apparently it's a fire regulation or something. Which makes total sense - imagine trying to get a dozen children under the age of three into shoes to go outside? Quickly?

Huh.

I have nothing really to say today. So instead, I have browsed through my archives, wondering what I used to say, when I had nothing to say, and found some of my favorite posts. So instead of trying to scrape something fresh & entertaining out of my head, please enjoy a selection of the following:
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parenting-advice - words of wisome from my little brother

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millinery-heart-philly - of all the hats in all the world...

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ahem-presenting-cravings-variety-hour - more badly re-written songs

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trauma-trauma-trauma-trauma - bra shopping for the expanding & inept

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happy-halloween - Sir Winston Churchill, anyone?
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its-friday - random silliness

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They're all from 2007 or earlier; enjoy! I'm going to go & soak in a tub, in an attempt to get my back feeling better*. Actually, that's probably why I'm feeling a little speechless... low-grade constant pain sucks my life force & humor.

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*I threw it out again on Saturday - Chinook Center has some weird provision against shopping carts, which I didn't realize, so I didn't bring the stroller, and I picked Am up with one arm as she was pitching a prime, head-bangin' fit, with my purse, jacket, & bags all balanced on the other arm. Turns out, a mistake. And I wasn't even really shopping! I was rendez-vousing! Next time, I guess I let crack her skull on the cermaic tiles? That doesn't seem like the right answer either...

A Day With The Dye Baths

Rovings #1, originally uploaded by Kourtney_R.

Yesterday morning, for the first time in who knows how long, there was no morning scene of rage & despair at the daycare. She was headed off to play, happy as a clam, when a little boy went zooming by & knocked her over. So again, I left to the noise of her howls. I felt right ripped off... who knows how long it would be until all the stars in the heavens aligned correctly & her almost-two-year old majesty was appeased by the morning peace offerings of cheerios & juice?
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Turns out, about 24 hours. She was happy when I dropped her off today - she started to head off, then said "No!", and turned around. I gave her a hug, she turned around again, & we* all sighed in relief & happiness.
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Yoga was lovely; there were like three newbies so I got to feel all polished because I knew which straps were the long ones.
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The afternoon passed quite happily - I dyed a tidy little pile of yarns, and I think that the big batch did what I wanted, as far as color & consistency bewteen skeins go, & the little batch was more of a "What happens if I try this?". I'll know for certain once they both finish drying. Worst case scenarios, back to the dye pot! Although it's not really a pot, it's more of a system involving sealers & cling wrap & stuff. Magic erasers! Magic erasers are your friend if you are dyeing in your kitchen - they can remove the most offensive swathe of purple from the tile & walls, as long as you catch it while it's fresh. It's best to do this fast enough that your husband never sees.
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The image is from quite some time ago - that roving is now a hat. The color is lovely, but not at all what I anticipated happening. That's good though; mistakes are a great way to learn.
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*The adults in the daycare. I know she stops howling after approx 1.2 minutes, but still. It's nerve-wracking. I can't imagine how the daycare staff feel...

Envisioning A Happy Place

Feb 09, originally uploaded by Kourtney_R.

Today has been a long day at the office. I've been trapped between a technophobe & a technophile, with a glitchy printer to boot. I'm also covering for a brilliant coworker, which is terrific - we all need vacations. But she's smarter than me in several ways, and so today has felt like a long & sisyphean* journey.
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Thanks heavens tomorrow is Wednesday; I may not be knitting on a beach, under the Hawaiian sun, but I'm certainly going to hit yoga & the dye pots.
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* http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/sisyphean - pertaining to Sisyphus, a son of Aeolus and ruler of Corinth, noted for his trickery: he was punished in Tartarus by being compelled to roll a stone to the top of a slope, the stone always escaping him near the top and rolling down again. There, don't you feel smarter? Now you can sound all edumacated next time you need to gripe about some crap work or chore.

The Mystery of the Missing...

I don’t know if you’ve ever been over to my house. It’s not immaculate; we try our best to keep it clean, and I do prefer it tidy. But clutter follows me around like a lost puppy dog*. Despite my best efforts, I’m just that kind of person. I have a lot of hobbies; and reading, knitting, & sewing all accrete fairly substantial piles of things.
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(At least, the way I do them. I guess if you sewed & knitted one project ONLY at a time, and only read library books, it would be different. I like to own reference books, and books that I really like. So there are the books. And then there’s the stash of fabric, which may not be exhaustive, has been pruned back, but is still sizeable. And there’s the yarn & needle stash too. And I like to have a couple books here & there, for different reading or reference purposes. And a couple three knitting projects. The knitting & the sewing are a little more corralled, simply to protect the cats & the yarn from each other.** But, there’s, well, there’s always stuff around.)
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And the man reads too. And so does Amoryn. And then there are Am’s toys. Actually, Am herself is a fairly significant factor… she untidies just slower than I can tidy if I really apply myself. To summarize: despite best efforts by management, there continues to be a persistent mess or clutter in at least one location in the house. Not everywhere; it moves. I get the island cleaned off, the dining room table gets it. I clean the sewing desk downstairs, the office gets it. Et cetera.
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Despite that, I was doing pretty well keeping track of where everything is. But! All of a sudden! 2009 is the year of missing things. Currently AWOL are:
1) A small knitting reference book that I scored at a used book store. It’s fantastic, circa 1947 so a bit obscure, but I dig that. Last seen about three days after we got back from Maui. So no, I didn't lose it in an airport or on an island. It's here, in the house.
2) A book about back pain by John Sarno – MIA about a week after the other book.
3) One PAIR of small pink & white sneakers, new & barely worn by Am. Gone since mid-early January.
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While I freely admit that I do lose things on myself, it’s usually when I do a major clarification of the house, & things move from their accustomed place to being ‘put away’. And even then, it’s just a case of having to check a couple spots before I find them. But these items are resisting my search.
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I hate to point fingers, but I can’t help notice that my small partner in crime has also has a tendency to “reorganize” things. (Reference above paragraph about tidy/untidy rates.) So I am suspecting that these items have been moved from the places I would tend to keep them, & relocated to someplace else. And honestly, those shoes are making me crazy. If I didn’t have photographic evidence of them, I would tend to think that I had just imagined buying them, because I have sincerely hunted for them, & there is no sign. I might be willing to blame the cats if it was only one shoe – but pairs? The cats aren’t that focused.*** Also, they have no interest in books. So I’m afraid that I keep looking sideling at Am, as she happily lugs things from one place to another, and dances around in whichever pair of shoes have been deemed favorites for the day.

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(The silver shoes are mine, although faves of Am's. The sneaker, in profile, looks sly, now that I study it. Maybe they ran away!)
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*Or that one guy I dated really briefly in college.
**Did I ever tell you about the time that Suki ate most of a spool of thread while I was in the bathroom? Did I ever tell you how much the vet for that cost? Hah.
***Well, these ones aren’t. I’ve lived with some cats that were, but not these two.

Ah, Wednesday.

Did I tell you about how nice Wednesday was?
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(Maybe I shouldn't because you might be struck green with envy. But I'm not telling your for you to be envious*, I'm sharing because it was such a great day.)
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First, Wednesdays are my day** - Am goes to daycare, & I take care of things that I need to, that aren't particularly toddler friendly. Things like the books, cleaning the bathrooms, dyeing stuff, etc. Also, the gym, naps, and lately, yoga class.
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Wednesdays make me happy. I adore Amoryn, but I am of the firm belief that things that make me a better person make me a better mother & role model. Having time to myself makes me a better person.
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Last Wednesday was a particularly nice example of Wednesday. It started off well, because Tuesday evening I was working (fighting) with some work (Cost Report of Awful Proportions, hereafter known as CRAP), and it was going nowhere good. Then I had like three breakthroughs, it worked magnificently, I sent it off in time to avoid that whoosh noise that deadlines make as I miss them, and I went to sleep full of good feelings.
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Wednesday, I had yoga class. Our instructor rocks - she's very knowledgeable about alternate positions for varying needs (lots of seniors withreduced mobility in my class), and she doesn't have that masochistic streak that some instructors seem to have. I'd been apprehensive about how the ass of jupiter was going to affect my downward facing dog, but I left feeling all stretched out & springy & good. Yay yoga!

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Then I bombed home to pick up S____, to bomb downtown & meet M____ & C____ & S_____ for a leisurely 'ladies who lunch' date at the top of the Tower. Very cool. If you didn't know, there's a restaurant at the top of the Calgary Tower, & it rotates, so you can admire the views as you dine.
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Then S___ & I both had spa appointments - I went for a hot stone massage, and I can't remember what she had. Something nice, anyways. And that was at the Hyatt's Stillwater, which is truly lovely. There's a serenity room you can rest in afterwards, to slowly re-formulate your thoughts. There's a hot tub/whirlpool***. There are refrigerated cucumbers for your eyes, if you'd like, and fresh fruit, granola bars, and water. There's "rain" showers. It's very nice.
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Then we headed home and we were early enough & it was nice enough that we parked & walked to the daycare, then walked home. At one point, as we were slowly inspecting all the puddle & bits of ice, S___ commented how slow the progress was. "Actually, we're making really good time." "!?" I guess I'm used to cruising with toddlers now...
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The evening plan was a little bit of a gong show - I've joined the Gillihooks Knitting Guild, which looks like it's a great oppurtunity to meet other knitters, learn, volunteer, & snack. Of course, I had no idea where I was going, so I diligently wrote the address down correctly, and then promptly switched the street & ave in my head, or S___ searched it in her Google maps. Either way, we ended up staring at a vacant lot, thinking "This is not right." We eventually did find the place - Bethany Care Center - and I entered the WRONG doors. So after I wound my way through a maze of infirm elderly, helpful yet inefficient assistants, and labyrinthine corridors, I finally found a room full of people with yarn. I expect that I’ll enjoy the next ones even mre, as a) I won’t be lost b) I won’t be late c) I will know where to find chairs.
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And then, in an unexpected turn of events, the National Post printed a letter I write them – my very first letter to the editor! Of course, they edited it a bit, and so changed a bit of the point of what I was saying, but still. Kinda neat.**** The man wrtes an awful lot of letters, and gets a quite a few printed, so I really feel like I’m keeping up with my Mr.
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PS: I didn't put a picture in today's post, but I did customize my sidebar so that every day, you can see the National Geographic's pciture of the day. Sweet, eh? (Scroll down, you'll see it.)
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*Well, maybe a little. Just a bit.

**Yes, I am (we are) very lucky in that I can work part-time & take a day just for myself. I have to pay full time daycare (no such thing as "part-time", snort), but I wirk two days at the office. I'd orignally intended to step it up to three days, but there's this whole down-turn/layoffs thing going on - you might have noticed the economy? So I'm content with two days at the office.

***I freaking love that pool. You don't need to wear a swimsuit (yay! no elastic!), it doesn't reek of chlorine, it is still water unless you turn the bubbles on, and it has a waterfall wall.

****I was commenting on some excerpts of a online forum discussing whether or not the washing machine was has made the biggest impact on the lives of modern women, or not.

This Is Completely Wicked.

And exceptionally funny, for those of us who usually obsess over sheep for other reasons:
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Baaaaa-Studs Extreme Shepherding

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I can't embed this no matter what I try. But follow the link, it is funnnn-neee.

It's Not My Fault...

I had much grander, funnier, plans for today's blog. But the flash cards have crapped out, and I am too tired to fight with electronics tonite, so yes: more @ss.

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Day two of the bruise:

It looks like it's getting better, eh?

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Day three of the bruise:

It's not. Note the spread of the purple, & the blue & the green rising up around the edges. This sucker, I swear, is like ten inches long. I'd take a photo of it with a tape measure or a penny for scale or something, but dude, I'm already taking pictures of my own butt, how much do you really expect? (Okay, I'll maybe try for next time.)

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In other news: Amoryn has been snaptastic this week. Really. I even have proof.

(This was a beautiful vignette of father-daughter cracker sharing, until she saw the camera. She's screaming "Nooo!"*)

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But it's not all bad! I'm still intensely thankful that my brief flight only gave me a bruise, not a break or concussion or something, and also:

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I found Koigu. On sale, even. Does thatever happen? That never happens! So, to celebrate finding such a startling yet lovely thing, I got six skeins. The above five are for a scarf for me.

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And this one is for a little project I'm working on... more on that later. I'm beat** and still might want to watch the CSI before bed.***

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*M___ & L____, you know the sound. So do lots of people in Maui, actually...

**Literally, judging by my bruise...
***Last night was the New York CSI. Tonite is Las Vegas. The Miami is to cheezy & wretched t watch.

Mysterious.

I made a new blog, but it published itself before yesterday's blog... so if you look past yesterdays, you'll find my post about a blueberry girl .
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And yes, the bruise is doing well. Maybe you'll get more pics tomorrow.

Maybe I'm Too Involved With Battlestar Galactica

(Mom, you do know that I'm sideways, right? Also, mom, what are you doing? You're supposed to take pictures of me, not your...)

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So, BSG will be over next week. That’s good, because then I can get back to my usual Friday nights, full of hedonism. (As long as you recognize that hedonism can involve yarn.) But it occurred to me today that I might be watching too much BSG.
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I launched off some icy stairs in a parking lot today, and landed on my butt & my elbow. Icy steps, cellphone*, & my bag all made a bad combination – I’m grateful that a) I was wearing my grippy boots, b) I didn’t break anything, c) that I’m not 80, d) I landed on the fleshy upper but-cheek sort-of hip area, instead of higher or lower, like bones or organs or something, & e) several nice people stopped to see if I was okay, and none of them seemed to hear (or mind) my muffled (yet vehement) curse as I landed.
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I’ve been mentally moaning all day, every time I go to sit or lean against something. I mean, sure, I kinda always wanted a booty like J. Lo, but really? Massive contusion on one cheek was not really what I had in mind. I was in the washroom*, trying to peer around and see how much I’ve bruised – the only pleasure associated with bruises are, of course, watching their colors – and I caught sight of my hip.
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(This baby is like, 6 inches long. No lie. And less than one day old. You know you're in for a series of butt-self portraits, tastefully cropped - IF YOU'RE LUCKY! Hahahaa...)
This is what my brain came up with: “Mother of pearl, I’ve got the @ss of Jupiter!”
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Confusing? This is the “Eye of Jupiter”, or at least wat they interpreted as the Eye of Jupiter on BSG. And that's sure what it felt like.

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Maybe a little much BSG. Or maybe not???

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(Seriously. Check out the purple halo. This is one wicked bruise, and you know it's going to be a frequent visitor to the blog - you know, watching the bruise 's progress. If my elbow bruise really gets it together for some technicolor amazing, I may feature it as well.)

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Yes, I just blogged my own arse. I feel okay about it, it's probably a pleasant change from the toddler snot discussion, no?
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(Mom, you know they'd rather look at me being charming. Well honey, you don't elicit the same gasp that my bruise does. And you're sideways because I don't know why, & I'm not fighting with blogger anymore.)
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*It was early – & I noticed one of Am’s shoes in the car, so I called the man to let him know that those shoes, those shoes are Not What She Should Wear Today. (This was my attempt at a good deed – to avoid shoe hunt, that always ends in cursing. Don’t even ask me where EITHER of her new sneakers are; I don’t know.) I was even being super good, and calling on foot, as opposed to in the car. Universe, I'm not sure I'm getting what my message is supposed to be, here...

A Blueberry Girl

Have I ever mentioned how much I adore my daughter, and how many hopes and dreams I have for her?

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I actually try not to build up too many - I want to let her develop her own direction; and not get her too lost in my dreams, you know. But I found this the other day, and it details perfectly everything I do hope for her. (Except for maybe a Nobel prize.)

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It's by one of my favorite authors - and while I don't always love everything he does, this, this is amazing and almost makes me cry every time I hear it. I think I'll get Am the book for her birthday. The link below leads to an animated reading of the poem.

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Blueberry Girl, by Neil Gaiman

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As a note - if you are familiar with Neil Gaiman's wok, this has none of the spooky. If you don't read his work, be aware: this is not wholly representative of most of his writing. His children's titles (that I've read) include The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish, The Night The Wolves Came Out Of the Walls; and Coraline (which is a movie now & seriously, that book made me jump in a way that no other book ever has).

Sunday Night, & the Couch is Calling Me.

(One of the ugliest, yet most fascinating, plants I've ever seen. It had no fragrance, which honestly was a bit of a relief, because who knows what something that looks like that would smell like. I don't even want to conjecture.)

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I had great intentions of accomplishing things this weekend. At least, I think I did... I got a bit lost in the haze of whatever crud it is that Amoryn brought home this week. Maybe I did get things done this weekend, and I just didn't notice. Hm. At any rate. I had a busy week last week, & I've got a busy week coming up, so even if I didn't get much done this weekend, it's okay.

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Something happened a couple weeks ago that I feel sheepish about. I lost my temper and taught my mouse how to fly. It had CLEARLY been asking for it, as it was getting sketchy & settng itself to magnify at random times & refusing to switch back to normal. I'd feel guiltier about loosing my temper, but I only threw one part of my computer*, & given how much I have worked with them & how much they drive me crazy sometimes, I think I'm doing well. Also, I only threw it; there was no stream of invective. So, that's controlling my temper, too, right?

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I got a new set from Costco; and now I refuse to reflect on the irony that the (new) mouse doesn't work. Maybe I'll take a page from the man's plant management book & threaten it. I'll leave the broken mouse in plain sight, or maybe give it to Amoryn to play with. That should frighten it into submission. Also, tomorrow I'll bring batteries down; the ones that came in the box might be dead.

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Speaking of dead, I have an episode of CSI recorded, & just waiting for me to watch it. And I'm alone** in the house, so I'm going to go & pit in on the couch with my socks, & see how it all works out.

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(This plant TOTALLY made me think of the brushes that they use for lifting fingerprints.)

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UPDATE: The mouse is now working. The threat was effective!

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*I knew a man who threw his entire desktop computer off of his deck. Monitor, keyboard, tower, & wires. And then he vetched all summer about all the d@mn letters that he kept running over with his lawn mower.

**Well, Am is home too, of course, but she's asleep. The man is at the Brier final.

***Well, it's more the ribbing for what will likely be socks, unless I lose my interest/patience or Suki gets the yarn when it's unattended.

The Littlest Birds Sing the Prettiest Songs (*6)

I have a bad habit. I tend to listen to other people's conversations. It's not as bad as reading though - I can't NOT read text if it's in an alphabet I recognize. I realized the reading compulsion of mine in a museum in Paris - I'd read who knows how much before my eyes realized my brain was shouting: "STOP IT! ALL YOU UNDERSTOOD WAS 'THE', 'SOME', AND 'THE'!* STOP IT!"
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It didn't work. I kept reading (comprehension - zero, brain - frustrated & jetlagged, sulking in the corner, waiting for the patisserie stop). It turns out that high school french will enable you** to order pastry, but not to read about where bronze age jewelry*** was excavated & who it was supposed to belong to. Bummer.
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Today as I was wolfing down Chinese food in the food court****, I was listening to a conversation. I couldn't help it, I was practically in the middle of it; there were two seperate parties at two seperate tables, united by having kids in the same school & nest--friend neighbours, I think. At any rate, I was listening with about the same amount of energy I usually give talk radio, when something one of them said really struck me, & sent my mind spiralling off on its own path. I won't give you any background, just the comment, partially because, dude, not my conversation, and partially because it stands on its own quite well.
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"she really deserves to be happy."
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Don’t we all deserve to be happy? Or is that like saying we all deserved a pony when we turned 7, or a spa day when we turned 35? Is happiness something that we can deserve? Or is happiness like naturally straight teeth – something the lucky few are born with, but it can be achieved with effort, expense, & focus(*5)?
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And what would make us deserving of happiness? Previous suffering? Previous good behavior? Naturally straight teeth?
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Who should decide if we deserve happiness? Who would get to weigh that out?
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And it seems so random, to 'deserve' happiness. I believe that happiness is something you have to work for, but it's also something that you have to allow into your life, too. Sort of like coaxing a wild bird into your hand - you have to do some work, but no chasing or grabbing.
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Of course, having said that, there is one girl that I wish a lifetime of happiness:

I don't know if I'm quite ready to try to teach her how to coax birds into her hands, but it pleases me immensely that she's finds joy in everyday things. (In this case, 3D glasses from her monster truck book.)
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Maybe the trick is to keep that ability...
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*They have two 'the's, you know. Pink ones & blue ones.

**Or at least, I could figure it out. On the other hand, I had a serious love on for the french pastry. I'm going back to Paris someday, just for the tarts. The ones with berries & apstry, though, not the kind in feather boas & fishnets. Although maybe a stop by the Moulin Rouge would be cool.
***I think it was jewelry. I think it was bronze age. It was pretty, for certain.
****I know, bad for me, don't eat fast, don't eat fried, fried, & fried for lunch... but trust me, I needed that salt & pepper squid. And I had a meeting to get to. It was a crap day. Some great, but mostly tiring crap. Oh well.
(*5)Have you ever had braces? That much picky flossing requires a lot of focus.
(*6) One of my favorite songs; it makes me feel happy to hear it; Littlest Birds by the Be Good Tanyas; not a great dubbed video, but if you really like it, you can get it on iTunes, I'm sure.

Really.

(Portrait of Amoryn, by her father. This makes me love my little family even more.)

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I heard a new label for myself today. That label is "digital mom". It made me feel like I should go out & get myself chromed like C-3PO, but they're actually referring to the fact that I use the intarweb to connect with people. And stuff.
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It was a clip of the Today show, and I found it painful to watch. I watched it because one of the bloggers I read was in it, & she's 6 months pregnant, so I totally wanted to look at her belly. (She's normally razor thin.) Her belly looks great, it was the discussion that was painful.
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The clip was, well, awkward. I'm not sure what they were trying to accomplish - make us moms feel included and important because we have a new label? - but meh. The only difference between my digital life now & pre-mom is that I have pictures of an adorable toddler to post. If you move us back to a pre-computer age, I guess I'd be the woman with the roll of photos in her handbag, showing them to the butcher and tha mailman. If you move us back even further, I guess I'd be making cave paintings of pigtails.
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It's tricky being a mom these days - and while I suspect it's always been tricky to be a mom, it seems like now there's a MILLION labels that are (or can be) applied. Are you a Working Mom? Are you a SAHM? (Stay at Home Mom) A WAHM? (Work At Home Mom) A soccer mom? (Or soccer stepmom...) A MILF? (Mother I'd like to F---, and don't even get me started on that. Oop, too late.)
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As for MILFs - what gives anyone the right to randomly PRONOUNCE thier judgement of any woman? Sure, we all judge. It's human nature. But unless it's nice, keep it in your head*. But why is it okay (to the point of being a very common term) to state, out very LOUD, whether or not you deem them f---able? Why is it okay (at least, judging by most advertisements) for the dads (if they're present) to be overweight, or balding, or clueless, or dressed like a slob, but the moms are universally sparkling examples of dental hygiene, perfectly coiffed, and oozing synthetic fantastic? Why should we rate anyone like a chunk of meat? And are they trying to imply that most mothers are not appealing, so to be a MILF is an extraordinary & good thing? What happened to the appeal of fertility?
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Maybe life would be easier if we were all graded annually, and then we just worried about staying in our class. There'd be the AAA+ prime, which would be, like, Angelina Jolie & Brad Pitt. Then it would scale down to I don't know, F- or something, and there would be divisions across all the media. You could pick up a C+ magazine (as a C+), and know that you're not going to be looking at a woman (and subliminally, expected to look LIKE the woman) who has been through several plastic surgeries & spends 26 hours a week with a personal trainer. And has been carefully airbrushed.
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The ratings might not be such a good idea, I don't think the class system panned out that well in Britain or India. Although maybe that depends on whether you're talking to the Brahmins or the chimneysweeps.
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At any rate. It aggravates me that there's all these labels. I don't fit in a box, please don't stick labels on me. My ire does seem to subside as I log more time (and more daily sleep) as a mom, but it still flares up. (You may have noticed, no?) All the labels start to chafe after a while, and while I'm usually to busy to get very introspective about it all, things like the trumped up label "digital mom" really aggravate me.
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And think of the dads! The poor dads, all mis- & under-represented - even the Today Show did it. They closed the segment by noting that the Digital Dads have't been ignored, just log on to the website to read! Ha. Is that not ignoring them? So for the dads, (and the Rage Against The Machine fans), I'd like you to watch this video.
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YouTube Stay-At-Hame-Dad by Jon Lajoie
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(I think my favorite line is maybe "I don't do drugs... I get high on baby hugs.")
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*MILF does not count as a nice thing to say. "Her hair looks good." or "You are amazing: you look clean & put together & you are attending a baby & me yoga class with 5 month old twins. Wow."

What's Not To Love About -24C Highs?

(It's much easier to knit with sand than snow.)

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Today, I drove to the train & then trained in to the office.

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I usually knit on the train. It was a last minute decision (predicated by @$#! traffic) to take the train, so I thought that it was lucky that I'd stuffed a knitting project into my bag. I did end up with the following realization though.

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Knitting on the train = possible.

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Knitting with half frozen hands on the train = a little challenging, a little slow.

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Knitting with half frozen hands & 14" straights on the train = challenging, slow, & clumsy.*

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Knitting with half frozen hands & 14" straights while wearing idiot strings with mittens dangling from them = almost impossible.

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I didn't give up though; even slow, clumsy, half-frozen knitting that is embroiled with some I-cord idiot strings is more progress than no knitting at all.

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Although, I should have maybe not bothered last night - I was working on my knitting project of delight - my luscious Handmaiden Seasilk thing** - and after 45 minutes of hard work, I had two rows less than when I started. The man just does not understnad why I bother, sometimes...

(These are Seasilk from Handmaiden - and none of them are my colorway. But they do capture the lushness, the beauty, the irresistable nature of the yarn that practically hurled itself into my arms, singing "LOVE ME! I'm yours!"***.)
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Actually, I think the people on the train this morning didn't get it, either. Although I'd swear that there was at least one hand-made toque in the bunch....

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*I wouldn't have if there was someone sitting next to me. That would be rude. Luckily, the 14" needles & the spastic flopping of my mittens scared people away.

**I'm planning a pattern - and so no pics for now. But ooh, I'm in love. It's a variegated yarn, so my challenge was to come up with something that didn't just lose either the stitch or the yarn in the final result. I am pleased thus far, & look forward to the grand unveiling, & your input, too.

***Don't tell me that yarn has never done that to you.

Oh my lands.

Well, there's a great post, waiting in the wings, but I can't get the images to work.

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It's the continuing takes of the Remote Knitter, and it's awesome.

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But it's a million times more awesome with the images. So I'm going to wait & get them out of her camera when she gets here. Until then, this was one of today's random funny things:

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(Me, working away at the office. Voice over loudspeaker:)

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*garble static "Ball Zeitchy, 228, Ball Zeatchie, 228."

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(Me, to myself: What???? I know we're a multicultural workplace & all, but really? We have someone named Ball Zeitchie? That can't be right. What the heck kind of ethnicity would that be?)

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*garble static "Ball Zeitchie, 228, Ball Zeitchie, 228."

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(Me, to myself: It can't be something that sounds so much like "Balls Itchy". It must partially be the receptionist's accent. I am not going to go & look for Balls in our gloabl address book.)

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And I didn't. It also occurred to me today - upon being met by two muchkin scaled creatures, swathed in primary-colored down jackets, contrasting toques & scarves, & snow pants - that winter would be a great time for the aliens to invade. I mean really, why aren't there any movies about that? It'd be easy to wait for February, pop over to MEC, thrown on something like this:

...and take over the world*. I mean, why bother with elaborate masks? Just use a balaclava. Even if they were green & slimy, meh, people would just offer a kleenex, and think they've got a a terrible cold.

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*Or a bunch of area around the poles, for sure. Maybe harder when this is the daily ensemble:

The House Is Alive... With The Sounds Of Music...

Yes, I've been carolling snippets of badly rewritten tunes to Am for quite some time. Some top hits include!

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(Note- to the tune if "Hi-Ho; "Ya-yo" is Am's pronunciation for Cheerio.)

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Ya-yo, Ya-yo,

It's time for brekky I know.

We chew our food, it tastes real good,

Ya-yo, Ya-yo.

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(Note - to the tune of "Up Where We Belong", in response to frequent requests of "uppie!")

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Mom lifts us up where we belong.

Where short are tall,

Little aren't so small.

Mom makes us big when we are wee.

She lifts us up! So we can see!

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(Note - to the tune of "Isn't She Lovely", during a nap on the road one day.)

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Isn't she sleeping.

Isn't she snoring away.

Isn't she drooling

All over her carseat.

She's totally knocked out, I guess a that a day

Out on the beach will do that.

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(Note - to the tune if Funicula, Funiculi, which, interestingly, was written to commemorate the opening of the first funicular on Mount Vesuvius.)

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Broccoli, broccolah,

Broccoliiiiiiiiiii, broccola-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

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(I can't take credit for this one. The man sings it to Amoryn when it's nasty diaper-change time. And it's not really a rewrite, it's just the Imperial March.)

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Bum, bum, bum, bum-bum bum, bum bum-bum bum.

Bum! Bum! Bum! Bum! Bum, Bum-Bum-Bum,

Bum bum, bum-bum, bum,

Bum, BUM, BUM.

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I'll let you know of others as they appear.

Snurgggggg...

(Lucky bird of paradise has never experienced "cold" of any type.)
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Yes, Am has been back in daycare for three days. And yes, yesterday morning, when I dropped her off, there was a little girl who had enough boogers running down her face that the addition of a couple flies would have made her the perfect poster kid for fund-raising pathos images of some sort.*
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So I knew. I knew that Am would be gettting sick, and then me, then probably the man. But still! I want to wail & blubber, but I can't breathe through my nose well enough to do either. Amoryn is the same.
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If I don't post again, you'll know that I've drown in my own snot.
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(Sorry if you're not a mom/have never been exposed to toddler germs & the associated fallout. Trust me, there are way grosser things that I've been editing from you.)
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*Sacred cows do make the best hamburger, don't you agree?

Ah, the end of the day.

Yes indeed, it's the end of a busy day. I've accomplished, well, some. Lots? I went to the office, battled dragons there, picked up Am, successfully fed both of us supper, snuggled, knit a little, then sort of reformatted the blog. And I made brownies. Amoryn helped. And bless her, she's still too young to know that brownie batter tastes good! (I made sure to lick my spoon when she wasn't looking. Way to close to bedtime for that level of chocolate discovery.)
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I haven't folded any laundry. It's all in a lump in the living room - usually I'll fold in the evening whilst watching tv. Not lately though - I think I'm maybe working towards fulfilling a subconscious fantasy, where Amoryn & I* will wake up every morning, strip off our pj's**, run downstairs gleefully, then plunge into the pile of clean laundry like we're Scrooge MacDuck, & joyously dive around until we're dressed in what we want for the day.
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Or it could be that my sacrum is still a wee bit tweaky post-flights, and sitting crosslegged on the floor is no good at all. One more chiro trip should get me back into shape. I hope.
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What else is new... I made guacamole! Not that that's terribly new or unusual, but because I frequently get compliments on my guac, I thought I'd share my secrets. Not really secrets, per se: I make the quick'n'dirty version. I don't mince, grate, pare, dice, or blend. I do line up all the ingredients, like I'm organizing all the actors in a graphic veggie slasher film, & I'm the crazed director.

(I like how my berry herbal tea is casting an ominous red haze on the left.)
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I cut the avodaoes in half. Mmmmm, organic avocadoes... so worht it. I scoop out their guts. (Graphic veg violence, edited for viewers.)
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I use the garlic & herb spice grinder liberally, & the chili*** grinder more frugally, & a then put in a gwoosh of lime juice.

(Sorry about the money shot of the lime juice. I guess that's the topless chearleader running through the woods, eh?)
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Mash enthusiastically. (Likewise edited for viewer's sensibilites, and also, I can't mash & take a photo at the same time. Where's my darn gaffers?)

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Taste. Adjust lime & spices as needed. Remeber, the spices & lime will 'ripen' as time goes by, so the flavors will become more pronounced than they are when you first mix a batch up. And be careful to go easy on the salt!
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Mmmmmm.
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Oh, and by the way: should there be any leftovers****, I don't save the pits or anything like that. I carefully smoosh all the air out under a layer of saran-wrap. That, & the citric acid in the guac, seem to keep it from getting too brown too fast.
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*Am & I are the only people I do laundry for. Bless the man's buttons, he does his own. And irons it too!
**Yes, I sleep in pj's. It's hard enough to roll out of bed in the middle of the night for the bad-dream patrol; if I was going to have to be cold, too? Eesh.
***Not chili, like the chili that's a meal, chili like the 'hot!'.
****Hah! Only if I'm trying to remember to 'share'.

That's all I've got.

I need a new mouse. I keep deleting whole rafts of sentences, & frankly, I don't have the oomph to be witty & clever a second time. So instead, have some lolcat.

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PS: Updated to add:

This is an email from my best friend.

She’s becoming more & more of a knitter, & she works in a remote location for stretches of time. This is what she sent:

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From: S_______
Sent: March 2, 2009 3:55 PM
To: Kourtney
Subject: Unsuccessful

I left my size 8 circulars at home. Tried to make a substitute, but the yarn sticks to the duct tape too much.
Attempt #1: unsuccessful.
Will keep you advised on attempt #2...

I love that girl!

Twist & Shout!

Awesome! The Spring Twist Collective is out... if you don't knit, fyi: online magazine about knitting, with some great articles & downloadable patterns that are a reasonable price. If you do knit, check it out - there are some fantastic patterns, inclding quite a few for men, and the collective works closely with the designers, so they get a fair shake for their patterns.
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I'm tempted by Pisara by Mari Muinonen.

There's some deatiling on the back that I adore. And I believe it's knited in the round.

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Megan Roger's Aran Waitcoat is totally me.

I think, anyways... I'm really drawn to vests these days, but I don't have a single one.
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I'll get back on the sock band wagon, someday. (I have knit 3 paris, you know. Long ago.)

I can totally picture these in (my) shoes: Laeticia by Stephanie Van Der Linden . Maybe for the sock yarn I got in Maui?

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Before I cast on for any new projects though, I've got a couple I need to finish. One of these is grocery shopping, as fate has it, so we're off to the grokky store!

Another Experiment...

The last experiment wasn’t a success, but it wasn’t an irredeemable failure, either. I think.  SO what does that mean?

More experiments, please!

Interesting...

I suspect I shouldn't monkey with my blog settings after 9pm, due to lack of brain. But who knows???

This made me laugh, & laugh, & laugh.

While I'm not quite sure if this is defined as "adult content", as someone who has worked as a part-time clown* making balloon animals, I find it freaking hilarious.
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It's a durex commercial. There are no people in this commercial; it's all balloon animals. I was going to upload it, but while I don't think it's obscene**, I suspect it does infringe on copyrighted blah blah... So, check it out here: Youtube Durex Balloon Animals .
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If you're the type of person who doesn't believe in condoms, or conversations about condoms, then I would really skip that link. Here! Instead look at this:

Aren't they lovely? No idea what they are, other than orange & pretty.

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*I guess I wasn't funny enough to be a full-time clown...
**I would explain it to small children as: "It's making a joke about something adults to do to feel closer to one another & your mother will explain it more LATER."